


Renewal

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 11, childbirth complications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: After Scully has a difficult birth with her third child, Jackson comes back to the Unremarkable House to help care for his sister.





	Renewal

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves a difficult birth/childbirth complications.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely people at the X-Files chat who listened to me rant and helped me figure out childcare things (softnow, TalitaKuomi, and kyosenshi)!
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

They kicked him out of the room.  They kicked him out of the room, and under any other circumstances he would be protesting with all his strength, getting back in there come hell or high water.  But there’s Susanna.

So instead of fighting with the doctors he’s walking up and down in the hall, with Susanna pressed snugly against his shoulder.  He looks down at her face about once a second.  A tiny bit of brown hair.  Big blue eyes.  Everything about her impossibly tiny.  Their daughter.  His and Scully’s.  Perfectly healthy. 

He’s talking to her too, in a sort of stream of consciousness.  “I’ve got you,” Mulder tells her.  “I’ve got you, okay, baby girl?  I already love you so much.”  It’s true, so true, and he holds her tighter, instinctively.  “And your mom will too, okay?  You should have seen how excited she’s been.  Getting you all these books and toys and little hats…She’s going to love you so, so much.”  It can’t not be true, if he tells it to Susanna.  He can’t be the kind of person who lies to his baby daughter.  “You’re going to see her really soon.  The doctors just had to do a few things.”  He’s not going to say any more than that.  It might scare her.  It might scare him.  “But she’ll be fine, Susanna.  She’ll be so happy to see you.  You’re going to love each other so much, the two of you.”

Mulder’s not really surprised, when he looks up and sees who’s coming down the hall towards him.  It’s that kind of day.  He can’t wave, because of Susanna, but he nods and tries to smile.  “Hi,” he says, when they’re close enough.  It’s wildly inadequate, but he’s also been here for close to twelve hours at this point.  And he’s not sure that, under any circumstances, he could give this moment what it deserves.

“Hi,” he says, the boy, the young man, William, Jackson—Mulder has no idea what to call him.  The last time they saw him was on a dingy dock, a night when they thought they would never see him again; now he’s here in this antiseptically clean corridor.  His voice is strained, hurried, when he says, “I thought I felt—whoa, is that the baby?”  He nods towards Susanna.

“Yes,” Mulder says, nodding too.  “This is Susanna.”  The strangest introduction he’s ever performed.

“She’s a girl, then?” he asks.  “I wasn’t sure.”  He seems to know all about it, even though he just got here.

“A girl,” Mulder confirms.  “Your sister.”  The words slip out of him, in this moment; he remembers holding his son like this.  Susanna makes a noise—he doesn’t know if she’s pleased or upset, if she’s curious about her brother or if she wants to see her mother as badly as he does—and he pats her back softly.

He’s still staring at Susanna when he says, “I thought I felt something.  Something with—with Dana.  I wanted to see…What happened?” he asks, finally looking up.

Mulder knows that at another time he might have felt profoundly glad about this.  He might have been fascinated, full of questions about this connection between mother and son.  Right now, he doesn’t feel like he can focus on any of it.  He glances at Susanna, who has just discovered that she can put her fingers in her mouth, and lowers his voice a little.  “She started bleeding,” he says.  “More than…more than she should have, I mean.  Right after Susanna was born.”  When he thinks about it, the scene seems surreal: happiness one minute, a new baby girl, and the next the doctors talking in hard loud voices and hustling him out quickly, Scully’s pale face and blood on the bedsheets.  “I don’t know exactly what happened.  They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“But she’s…”  He seems to have difficulty getting the words out.  “I mean, she’s still…”

“Oh, God, yes, she’s alive,” Mulder says, when he realizes what the question is.  _Don’t even think that_ , he wants to say.  “They’re working on her now.  I don’t know when I’ll get to see her, though.  I don’t know anything more.”  The not knowing might be the worst part, if the other parts weren’t so horrible.

“Do you mind if I wait too?”  He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“Please,” Mulder says.  They walk more, then, the three of them.  Susanna falls asleep.  Mulder wonders how she can.

He’s lost his sense of time when a nurse comes towards them.  “Are you Mr. Scully?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says; he’ll answer to anything if that means he can see her, if that means she’s all right.  “How is she?”

“She’s stable,” the nurse says.  “The surgery was successful.”  He doesn’t know if he wants to ask for the specifics.  “She lost a lot of blood, but we’ve got her on an IV now.”  He must look like he feels, because she pats his arm.  “Your wife is going to pull through.”

He can barely take it in.  “Can I see her?”  That’s the only question now.  Maybe then he’ll believe in this. 

“She’s not awake yet,” the nurse says, “but she’s in a recovery room.  You can go in and sit, if you want.  I’ll show you the way.”

As she starts off down the hall, Mulder turns to William.  Jackson.  Their son.  “Do you want to come too?” he asks.  He tries to make it sound warm, like he’s not only thinking about getting to Scully as fast as possible.

He shakes his head.  “I…it’s not a good idea,” he says.  “Not now.  Maybe I’ll hang around, though.  Get something to eat.  Maybe see you later.”  He pauses.  “I’m glad she’s going to be okay.”

“So am I,” Mulder says.  “Well.  Goodbye, then.”  The nurse is waiting impatiently halfway down the hall.

“See you later,” he repeats, and as Mulder starts to walk away, he waves, suddenly.  “Bye, Susanna,” he says, and then he turns and goes.

 

Scully’s head is light and dizzy; it’s never pleasant, waking up like this, no matter how many times you’ve been through it.  She blinks, a couple of times, and sees Mulder leaning over her.  He looks like shit, which gives her a pretty good idea of the kind of condition she must be in (if the buzzing in her head and the fact that moving feels impossible hadn’t already tipped her off), but she’s happy to see him.

Her happiness is nothing to his, though.  “Scully,” he says, “Scully,” and then he’s leaning closer still and kissing her, all over her face, and she thinks he’s laughing until she feels a teardrop on her chin.  “You’re all right, honey,” he keeps saying.  “You’re all right, thank God.”  She tries to shift in the bed, to touch him too, and he stops and pulls back.  “Don’t try to sit up,” he says.  “They made me promise I wouldn’t disturb you.”  He’s trying to smile at her through the tears in his eyes.  “You’re all right,” he repeats.  “Please don’t scare me like that again.  Not ever again.”

She reaches out her hand, and he clasps it, their thumbs brushing against each other.  “What happened?” she asks.  She feels silly, not being able to remember; she trawls through her memory, trying to figure out what brought her here.  The morning, she remembers suddenly.  The morning and her water broke and…She cuts him off as he’s starting to answer her.  “The baby,” she says.  “Mulder, is the baby okay?”  She feels cold, afraid.

But his smile reassures her, even before he speaks.  “She’s a lot more than okay,” he says.  “Scully, she’s perfect.”  He turns away from the bed for a moment—Scully tries to crane her neck to see what he’s doing, and even though it makes her dizzy she thinks she catches a glimpse of a bassinet—and then he’s back with a bundle in his arms.  “Here she is,” he says, and Scully stares.  She’s right there now, their daughter, and Mulder was right, she is perfect.  She’s more than Scully felt she could hope for, after everything.  She’s here with them.

“Hi,” Scully whispers.  “Hi, Susanna.”  They finally decided on the name last week, and she’s glad of it now; it makes her feel like their daughter is someone, right from the start.  “Hi, baby girl.”  She touches Susanna’s cheek.  It’s so soft.  The moment feels achingly familiar and wondrously new, all at once.

“See,” Mulder says, “see, Susanna, I told you she was going to love you so much.”

“I do,” Scully says.  “I really, really do.”  She knows she’s starting to cry now too.

Mulder holds Susanna out towards her.  “Do you want to hold her?”

She does, more than anything.  “My arms…everything feels like jelly,” she says.  “I’m afraid I’ll drop her.”  Mulder doesn’t say anything.  Then he moves, carefully, so he’s on the bed next to her, so he’s got his arms around her and Susanna at the same time.  She puts a hand against his, under Susanna’s head.  For the moment it feels like the three of them are one.

She looks up when she hears a tap at the door, and then she gasps.  It’s her son; he’s standing there in the door, staring at the three of them with an expression that she can’t read.  “Hi,” he says.  “I wanted to see if you were all right.”  She wonders if she’s still unconscious, after all.

“He was here earlier,” Mulder tells her.  “When we were waiting to see what was going on.”

That doesn’t explain anything.  “What is going on?” she asks.  “What happened to me?  How did you know to come?”

“You were hemorrhaging, honey,” Mulder says.  He’s still holding her, and the whole thing seems like it’s almost too intimate, with their son right there.  “Right after Susanna got here.  But you’re going to be all right.  They did a laparotomy.”  He says the words carefully, as if they’re memorized; he must have asked for the specifics for her, knowing she’d want to know.  “And a…um…something with your blood vessels.  Embolization?”

“Yeah,” she says, a little amazed that she can still put meaning to the words, with how tired she feels.  “Not a hysterectomy?” 

“No,” he says, and she lets out a breath.  She knows there won’t be any more babies, but even so she hates the thought.  Something else gone. 

Their son interjects then.  “I…well, I could feel you were in pain,” he says.  “That something was wrong, anyway.  And I wasn’t that far away, so…I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Thank you,” she says.  She can’t believe they’re having this conversation.  “Would you come over here?” she asks, and he approaches the bed, still staring at the three of them, who are still intertwined.  “Thank you so much for coming to see me,” she says.  “Have you been…are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “Yeah, I’ve been…yeah.  It’s fine.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

But what if she wants to?  “I still do, though,” she says.  “We’ve both been wondering about you.”

“Well, don’t,” he says, a little sharply, and it hurts, even if she doesn’t have the right to feel that way.  She sits up a little, so she can talk to him better, and it feels like someone has grabbed her head and started shaking it.  _Right_ , she thinks, as she feels herself sliding back down, _right, I wasn’t supposed to try to sit up_ , and Mulder grabs for her, saying her name in a slightly panicked voice, and Susanna starts wailing, and her son is leaning in there somewhere too but she can’t focus, she has to close her eyes and just concentrate on not passing out.

When she opens them again, Mulder is stroking her hair back from her face.  Their son is holding Susanna, patting her back sporadically.  He looks ill at ease, but somehow steady.  Susanna’s stopped crying.

“You don’t look so good,” Mulder tells her. 

“I’m okay,” she says.  “Tired.” 

“You should rest, then,” he says.  “The nurse said someone would be coming back to check on you soon.  Rest until then, okay?”

She gropes for his hand.  “Stay with me,” she says.  “Please.  All three of you.”  She can see their son standing there, holding Susanna.  She watches them until she falls asleep.

 

Mulder stops the car outside the house, as close as he can get to the steps without making it blatantly obvious what he’s doing.  From the way Scully looks at him, he doesn’t think he’s succeeded too well.  “Here we are,” he says.  “Jackson, can you take Susanna?”

“Sure,” Jackson says.  Mulder can see him struggling with the car seat straps as he gets out of the car himself.  He doesn’t blame him.  Those things are a challenge.

He wants to stop and watch them for a minute—the whole thing seems so strange, so overwhelming.  They thought they would be bringing their daughter home from the hospital; now they’ve brought their son home too.  He’s coming home with them and they didn’t even have to ask: he was the one who offered.  He said he would come back with them for a little while, to help out with Susanna, just while Scully was still recovering.  They told him he didn’t have to, and he shrugged and said it was fine.  Whatever that might mean.

Jackson’s liberated Susanna from the car seat and is holding her; it sounds like he says something to her, but Mulder can’t make out the words.  He goes around and opens the car door for Scully, who shoots him a look when he tries to help her up.  So he lets her do this part under her own steam, anyway, lets her walk unsupported until they come to the stairs.  “Come here,” he says then.  “You know you’re not supposed to do stairs yet.”

She puts her arms around his neck and lets him lift her, up the few steps to the porch.  He really doesn’t mind doing it; she’s not that heavy, and anyway she’s his wife and just put herself through hell bringing their daughter into the world, so he figures he’d be an asshole if he did mind.  She minds, though.  That’s obvious, in every line of her face, in the way she holds every muscle of her body.  She doesn’t like having to come into her own house this way.  And there’s something else too, something he can’t quite pick out.  He sets her down on the porch, Jackson and Susanna coming up after them, and opens the door.

The house looks just like it did earlier in the week, before they left to go to the hospital.  Not that he should have expected it to look any different, he guesses.  “Do you want to rest down here for a while?” he asks Scully.  “Or go upstairs?”

She’s quiet for a minute.  He can tell she’s longing to be in their bed, much more comfortable than anywhere she slept at the hospital, and that something—whatever it was he couldn’t pick out before—is making her hesitate.  Her eyes look in Jackson’s direction, and Mulder thinks he knows what it is.

“Is she asleep?” he asks Jackson quietly, coming over to look at Susanna.  Her eyes are closed, her head against her brother’s shoulder. 

“I think so,” Jackson says; his voice is quiet too.  “Pretty much, anyway.”

“Do you want to take her up to her room?” he asks.  “It’s the last one at the end of the hall upstairs.  The one with the crib,” he adds, smiling.  “You can let her sleep there.”

“Sure,” Jackson says, and he starts up the stairs with Susanna in his arms. 

Once he’s at the top, out of sight, Mulder turns to Scully again.  “Take you up now?” he asks, and she nods this time, lets him carry her to their room.

He sets her down on the bed and starts arranging the pillows behind her.  “Why didn’t you want Jackson to see me carrying you?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer for a minute—he thinks she’s going to deflect, maybe, claim she was thinking no such thing, but then she sighs and says, “I’m his mom, Mulder.”  He waits a little longer, but she doesn’t elaborate.  He decides to let it go, at least for now. 

“Well, we’re home now,” he says.  “You glad?”

“Very,” she says.  “I hated that room.  And the food.”

“This room is much more comfortable,” he agrees.  “And I will provide you with the best of food.”  He kisses her temple.  “And you can take it easy.”

“Take it easy?” Scully asks.  “Mulder, we have a newborn in the house.  The time for taking it easy is long gone.”

“Okay, fair,” he says.  “But you know what I mean.  You’re still healing, Scully.  Don’t push yourself.  Okay?”  She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t protest either.  “Do you want to rest for a while?” he asks.  “Sleep when the baby sleeps, like they say.”

“All right,” she says, curling up on the bed; he pulls the blanket up over her, gently, and she’s asleep in minutes. 

Mulder knows he should probably sleep too, but he can’t settle to it.  Instead, he walks down the hall, into the smaller bedroom, the one that is now Susanna’s.  Jackson’s still there, standing at the window and looking out; he doesn’t turn around when Mulder comes in.  Mulder bends over the crib, where Susanna is lying asleep.  She looks peaceful: the only one of them, if Mulder had to guess, who isn’t at all weirded out by this whole thing.  He doesn’t want to disturb that, so he stands back a little, just watching her, not saying anything.

Jackson stirs and speaks.  “She’s so little.” 

“Yeah,” Mulder says.  They stand there together.

 

During the days, Scully tries, making herself walk down the hall, even when her body protests the whole operation.  She holds and feeds Susanna, always sitting down first and letting Mulder or Jackson bring her over, in case her own legs decide to give out.  She takes naps that don’t feel long enough.  She marvels at everything Susanna does.  She watches Mulder carrying Susanna, cooing to her, marveling too, and she feels glad.  She snatches the occasional shower, when Jackson’s watching his sister.  She comes back into the room, watches him carrying Susanna too and talking away to her, hears him fall silent when he realizes she’s there, and doesn’t know what to feel.

During the nights, she wants to try, but she can’t.  It always hits her when the baby monitor wakes her up.  The tiredness down to her bones.  Aches in places she didn’t know could ache. 

Mulder stirs next to her.  “You want me to get her?” he asks, words slurred with sleep.  “Bring her to you?”

“Yeah,” she says. 

She drags herself to a sitting position while he goes, fumbles with her buttons.  They don’t seem to be working.  She pauses, makes herself breathe.  Tries again.  They still don’t work.  Takes another breath, a deep one, and forces those stupid little things through the buttonholes, one at a time.

Mulder comes back in, with Susanna held against him.  She’s crying pretty loudly now, and Scully tries to soothe her as she takes her, but she really has to concentrate on just holding her: she feels like her arms might collapse.  At least Susanna knows what to do by now.  She calms when she’s at the breast, and Scully takes a deep breath again. 

Susanna’s drifting off now.  Scully tries to keep her awake long enough to burp her; she doesn’t want her waking up again in twenty minutes with air in her stomach.  She’s not sure if she does or not.  She’s not sure if she’s awake herself.

The next thing she knows, Mulder is sliding back in next to her.  “What?” she asks.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says.  “Go back to sleep.”

“What happened to Susanna?” she asks.  “Where’d she go?”  Susanna’s not supposed to be gone.  Mulder says something; she knows all the words and can’t make meaning out of them. “Where’d she go?” she asks him.  Should she get up and look?

He touches her cheek, turning her head towards him.  “She’s fine,” he says.  “She’s in her crib.  You fed her, and she’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. 

“I’m sure,” he says.  “You fell asleep after you fed her, that’s all.  You’re tired, honey.”  The hand on her cheek smooths her hair back.  She tries to reach out to him too, wonders if her hand can make it that far.  “You should sleep,” he says, and he kisses her gently, and she starts to cry, her face against the pillow.

Mulder moves closer to her; she can see the concern on his face, even though the room is dim.  “What is it?” he asks her softly, stroking her hair again.  “I’ve got you.  I’m here.”

“I don’t know,” she wails.  She sounds like she’s a baby herself, bawling like Susanna does when she’s hungry or startled. 

“Are you in pain?” he asks her.

“No,” she manages. 

“Your stitches and everything, they’re all good?”

“I guess.”

He doesn’t interrogate her further about that, for which she’s grateful.  “You’re tired, though.”

“So tired,” she says.  “So tired.”  Her head is against his chest, now; he lets her sob there. 

“You’ve been through a lot, Scully.  It would be nuts if you weren’t tired.  But you’re going to be okay.”  More stroking her hair; maybe she could go to sleep like this.  It would be all her body wants.  “You’re still healing.  But you’re going to get better.  Sleep now, okay?”  She doesn’t feel entirely soothed.  But she’s too tired to do anything but take his advice. 

She’s alone the next time she wakes up, early in the morning.  She checks the nursery:

Jackson’s there, holding his sister.  Scully pauses in the doorway and watches them; he doesn’t see her yet. 

“Are you getting hungry?” he asks Susanna, his voice sweet and loving and unfamiliar.  “Mulder said we should let Dana sleep if we could.  But we can go find her, if you need to eat.”  He turns, then, and sees Scully, freezing almost as if he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“Good morning, Jackson,” she says.  Susanna crows when she sees her, and she walks over to them, taking one of Susanna’s tiny hands in hers.  “Good morning, sweet girl.”  She feels the imbalance in the greetings, doesn’t know what to do about it.  “Time for your milk,” she tells Susanna, instead, and settles into the rocking chair with her daughter on her lap.

 “Mulder went to the store,” Jackson says.  “He said to let you sleep.”

“Well, thank you,” Scully says.  “That was sweet of you both.”  She wants to say more, but he’s already turning towards the door.  “I hope she hasn’t been waking you up too,” she adds, feebly.

“Nah,” he says.  “Not really.  I mean, I’m not always asleep, anyway.”  He looks down at Susanna.  “We’re both night owls, aren’t we?” he asks her, and she blows a spit bubble.  “Nice,” he comments. 

“Is everything…is there anything we can do?” Scully asks.  “I mean, if you’re not sleeping.”

“No,” he says quickly, “it’s fine.  Don’t worry about me.”

She almost laughs.  “That’s not so easy for me to do, Jackson.  I’m your…”  She’s not sure what she should say.  She’s not sure how he sees her.

“It’s fine,” he says again.  “She’s tired,” and then he’s gone before she can stop him.  Susanna whines and she shushes her, unbuttoning her top to feed her again.

 

“She’s got a lot of hats,” Jackson says, looking in the drawer. 

“Yeah,” Mulder acknowledges.  “We went a little crazy.”

“This one’s cool,” Jackson says.  He holds up a yellow thing, almost too small to be a hat, really; it’s made of wool, with a cloth flower on the top.  He puts it on Susanna, who’s in Mulder’s arms, and steps back a pace to study the effect.  “High fashion,” he says, grinning.  Mulder smiles back.  Susanna drools.

“Dana’s doing better,” Jackson says.  It’s half a statement, half a question.

“I think so,” Mulder says.  “It’s a little hard to tell when we’re all so tired anyway.  You must be exhausted too.”

Jackson shrugs.  “I don’t sleep a lot,” he says.  Then he frowns, as if he’s said too much, and shuts the dresser drawer with a jerk, and any invitation to talk has been withdrawn.

 

Today Scully’s made her way to the nursery unassisted, unsupervised, which feels like the equivalent of a successful criminal chase in heels.  She’s sitting in the rocking chair, having a chat with Susanna.

“Look at you,” she says softly, as Susanna waves a tiny hand.  “You’re the sweetest baby girl in the world, you know that?”  She smooths the soft wisps of hair at the back of Susanna’s head.  “I love you so much,” she tells her, “and I always will, okay?  Forever and ever.  I’ll always be here to take care of you.”  The thought brings her both joy and guilt.  The combination is not unfamiliar, right now. 

Susanna whimpers a little, the sound that she makes when she’s getting hungry, and Scully starts to unbutton her pajama top.  “Hey, baby girl,” she says.  “Hungry, huh?  We’ll take care of that.”  It’s peaceful and calm, feeding her daughter, and she feels like she’s doing something right, in this moment at least.  Her body isn’t fighting her.  No one’s worried about her.  She isn’t making anyone’s life more difficult.  She just holds Susanna close and makes soft, soothing sounds.  Maybe for Susanna.  Maybe for both of them.

 

Scully’s made her way downstairs for the first time tonight; Mulder walked close behind her, just in case, but she didn’t need his help.  He claps when she reaches the last step, and she shoots him a look, then stands on her toes and kisses him.  “It’s good to see the living room again,” she says.  “I thought it might be gone.”  She’s smiling now, as she sits on the couch, and Mulder can’t help smiling too.

“It got lonely down here without you,” he tells her.

“How much have you been down here yourself?” she asks him.  “I feel like you’re right behind me, every second of the day.”  She shakes her head, amused.  “I hope you’re reassured that I’m not going to…shatter, now.”  He wonders what the pause meant, what she was thinking of saying.  _Die_ , maybe, and if that was it he’s glad she didn’t say it. 

“I’d never think you were going to shatter,” he tells her.  “I know you much too well for that.  I’d vote you Least Likely to Shatter.”

“Oh, come on,” she says, but she nestles into him, there on their couch, and he’s the happiest he’s been in the past two weeks.

“And for your information,” he adds, “I’ve come down here plenty of times.  Cooking and all that.”

“I know,” she says. 

Jackson comes into the room then, carrying Susanna.  “Hey,” he greets them.  “You’re down here.”

“We’re down here,” Scully confirms. 

“Should I put her in the…thing?” Jackson asks.  The thing is a baby seat, next to the couch; they’d bought it before Susanna was born, along with everything else, but so far it hasn’t seen much use.  “I don’t know what it’s called.”

“I’m not sure it has a name,” Scully says.  “You can just bring her over here, though.  Come sit with us.”  Mulder shifts on the couch, a little closer to her, making space.

Jackson hesitates a moment, and then he comes and sits, Susanna against his shoulder.  He doesn’t make a move to hand her to one of them, and Mulder watches the two of them together.  They seem natural: Jackson’s hands seem right to hold Susanna, still so tiny; her head seems right to rest against his shoulder. 

“Hi,” Mulder says, taking one of Susanna’s hands.  She grips for his finger.  She’s staring up into his face.  She’s already older than William was, the last time Mulder saw him under that name.  “What are you watching?” he asks her softly. 

“She looks very thoughtful,” Scully adds, leaning over to look back at Susanna.  “Don’t you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, she’s a deep thinker,” Jackson says.  Scully looks surprised for a moment, and then she laughs, quietly. 

“You used to look at me like that,” she tells Jackson. 

He’s looking at her now; his arms have gone stiff, and Susanna makes a noise of protest.  “Sorry, Suse,” he murmurs, bouncing her gently so that she calms down.  “I did?” he asks Scully. 

“All the time,” she says.  “I’d carry you around and talk to you, and you’d watch me like that the whole time.  Or I’d come over to your crib and you’d be staring up at me.  I always thought…you must have had a lot going on in your head.”  She’s looking back at him, intently, and Mulder’s beginning to feel like he shouldn’t be sitting in between them.

“Was I always like that?” Jackson asks.  “When I was as young as her?”

“From the beginning,” Scully confirms, and Mulder tries to remember that look, from those few days they had.  “You always seemed thoughtful.  When I’d talk to you, I almost felt like you understood it all.  Not that you didn’t do regular baby things,” she adds.  “When you didn’t like something, you would make it known.  You hated me putting socks on you,” she says, almost as if she’s remembering that for the first time.  Mulder doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that, until this moment, he had no idea about the socks.  It was a secret, Scully’s alone.

“Socks?” Jackson asks.  “Why?”

“I have no idea,” Scully says.  “You just didn’t like them.  You’d always pull them off, unless I put shoes on you too.” 

“What else?” Jackson asks.  He must hear the eagerness in his own voice; there’s a studied calm to him when he adds, “Were there other things I didn’t like, I mean?  Or things I did like?”

Mulder wants to hear and he wants to leave, all at once; he’s not sure he belongs in this moment, centered in a past he only wishes he were a part of.  He leans over and takes Susanna from Jackson’s arms.  “You want to come with me?” he asks her.  “Watch me make dinner?”

Susanna offers no protest—she’s usually happy so long as someone’s holding her—and he carries her into the kitchen.  He can’t really cook with her in his arms, of course, but he’s left a sling in the kitchen; once she’s in it, strapped to his chest, he sets about getting dinner ready.  There’s not much actual cooking to do.  They spent an afternoon cooking together, him and Scully, a couple of weeks before Susanna was due, preparing meals and putting them into the freezer in smaller portions.  They laughed and traded recipes—she’d brought out a book of family recipes that Maggie had left, something he didn’t even know she had, and sat looking into it with her glasses on her nose—and talked about what it was all going to be like.  He put his hands on her stomach and felt Susanna kick, while they waited for the oven timer to ring.  And when it rang for the last time, he was almost sorry, because that meant the afternoon was over.

They did their work well, though, and there’s still plenty of food left in the freezer.  He selects a portion of lasagna—enough for the three of them who eat solid food—and puts it into the oven to warm up, then sets about making a salad.  “What do you think?” he asks Susanna, holding up the different produce options.  “Spinach?  Arugula?”  She stares at them with drool dribbling down her chin, and he wipes her off with a cloth, leading to a wail of protest.  “Shh, it’s okay,” he tells her, rocking gently in place.  “Spinach, then?  You look like a spinach kind of girl.”  He chats to her more as he washes the vegetables, but he can’t help falling silent sometimes, straining to hear over the sound of the water running, over the whimpers Susanna lets out when she feels like she’s not entirely the center of his attention.  She’s not wrong about that, even if it makes him feel guilty.  He wants to know what they’re talking about, there in the living room.  He’s absented himself from the conversation and now he wants back in.  That seems like something he would do.

It’s not as if they’re being particularly quiet, deliberately trying to keep him from hearing.  But even when he catches things, he doesn’t always know what they mean.  Sometimes she mentions things she’s told him before, or things he’s seen in pictures— “That bunny hat,” he hears her say, “you used to wear that a lot”—but sometimes her words don’t call up anything.  He wasn’t there.  He wasn’t there.

Susanna starts wailing again, and he puts the vegetables down, takes her out of the sling and rocks her against his shoulder.  “Shh, shh,” he says.  “It’s all right, sweetheart.  Everything is all right.”  Another choky sob, enough to break his heart.  “I’m here,” he tells her, patting her back, nestling her against him.  “I’m right here and I’ve got you.  I’m here,” he repeats.  “I’m here.”

 

It’s pretty early in the morning, but Jackson is awake.  He can tell Susanna’s waking up too, starting to fuss in her room.  He climbs out of bed and goes to check on her; Dana and Mulder aren’t awake yet, and so long as Susanna doesn’t need to eat, he figures he might as well let them get some more sleep.  That’s simple.  That’s the kind of thing he feels he can do for them.

“Hey, Suse,” he says to her.  “What’s up?  You need something?”  She quiets at the sound of his voice, looking up at him; she always looks very interested in what he has to say, which he appreciates.  She feels a little damp when he picks her up, so he changes her diaper and then carries her downstairs, into the living room, then out onto the porch.  The sun is coming up, over the yard.  “Look at that,” he tells her.  “Pretty, right?”  She gnaws on one of her fists. 

They sit out on the porch as it gets light, him and his baby sister.  Mostly they’re quiet.  When she starts to get fussy, making her _pay attention to me, not the sunrise_ sounds, he sings to her, the song that seems to fit best.  “Oh, Susanna, oh, don’t you cry for me…”  She’s too little to understand the words, he knows, but she does stop crying.  It’s peaceful here. 


End file.
